


Exhaustion

by sheafrotherdon



Series: A Farm in Iowa 'Verse [21]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-08
Updated: 2007-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rodney is exhausted, John is amused, and everyone loves sleep very much</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhaustion

John starts when he hears the truck horn in the driveway – it's almost ten at night, and he'd given Rodney up for lost in another feverish bout of lab activity, a second night of manic calculations to follow the first. He pauses and listens in case Finn stirs, but when there's no disturbance from upstairs he pads through the house, opens the back door, steps out onto the porch. Rodney's standing between the truck and the porch steps, squinting blearily in the direction of the road.

"Rodney?"

Rodney turns to look at him, blinks and smiles. "I _do_ live here!" he crows, and launches a series of meandering steps toward the porch.

"Jesus, did you drive like this?" John asks, meeting him half way despite his own bare feet, steadying him with a hand beneath his elbow.

"I'm just tired," Rodney grumbles. "And what's more I didn't _feel_ so tired when I left the lab. It came over me, all of a sudden, sneak _attack_ , and there I was, in the truck, and home was closer than Iowa City and – " He widens his eyes comically, as if that might help him stay awake. "I drove really slow."

John raises an eyebrow. "How slow?"

"Um – 20. 25mph?"

John helps him navigate the porch steps. "You're an idiot. You should've slept on the lab floor again."

Rodney grunts his disapproval of that idea. "I wanted a bed, thank you very much," he protests, eyeing the back door as if it might lunge at him. "And I got here just fine, minus that little – " he waves his hand, " – falling asleep at the wheel when I parked and hitting my head on the horn debacle. At least that's what I think happened. I don't know why else I'd headbutt the steering wheel."

John opens the back door for him. "You're crazy."

"What?" Rodney asks, blinking. "Hey! _Hey_ , it's not like I hit a _deer_ or anything . . . "

"Ever planning on letting that go?" John asks, guiding him inside.

"Nope," Rodney says pleasantly. "Oh, our kitchen is so _nice_." He spins unsteadily and lands a messy kiss on the corner of John's mouth. "Mmm."

"God, you're worse than when you're drunk," John sighs, smiling, closing the kitchen door with a kick. "Upstairs."

"Which is uh – " Rodney squints. "That way. Yes, definitely, yes . . ." And he wanders off, shedding clothes as he goes.

John follows, switching off the lights and the TV, picking up Rodney's jacket, shirt, t-shirt and belt. Upstairs, Rodney's standing in their bedroom, swaying just a little in the dark. "You need help?" John asks.

"No," Rodney yawns, staring at his own feet before his kicks off his shoes and lets his pants puddle on the floor. He hops wildly as he tries to pull off his socks, then stands clad only in his boxers, sighing happily. "That's our _bed_."

John laughs softly, crossing to pick up the discarded pants less they act as a dastardly tripping menace. "Yes, yes it is," he says indulgently as he stands, and in the next second, Rodney's leaning against his back, cheek against his shoulder blade. "Rodney?"

"Hmmm?"

"You wanna get _in_ our bed?"

"Def'nitely." He makes no move to do so.

John turns and pulls at his hand, guides him to the bed and pushes him gracelessly down upon it. "There you go."

Rodney sighs, spread-eagled, rubbing his face against the sheets. "Mina like with the – "

John smacks at one of his legs, amused and exasperated, then dumps the clothes in a chair and pulls off his own shirt and jeans. "Under the covers, hey?"

"Iiii will with the hmm," Rodney replies intelligently, eyes closed.

Stripped down to his boxers John crosses to the bed, physically shoves Rodney over and pulls down the covers. "Under."

"Mean," Rodney sighs, but does as he's told, crawling over to his side and pulling the blankets up to his chin, fingertips peeking over the top. He's pink-cheeked and smiling in the most ridiculous fashion John's ever seen. "Bed," he whispers.

"Yeah, buddy, bed," John agrees, smiling ruefully, and slides in beside him.

Rodney turns his face on his pillow. "Hi."

"Hi. We're sleeping now," John points out.

Rodney hasn't so much as opened one eye. "Okay," he whispers before he gives in to a jaw-cracking yawn. "Ooof, narrrgh, I missed you."

John inches in closer. "Yeah," he agrees, and presses a soft kiss to Rodney's shoulder. "You too."

But Rodney's gone at last, sacked out, mouth open, an early snore rumbling up from his chest. John stares at him for a second, then at the ceiling, and as quietly as he knows how, starts to laugh.


End file.
